Cross my heart, hope to dye
The best thing about living alone is that there’s no one around. The worst thing about living alone is that there’s no one around. Allow me to explain.
I left the gym at about 9:45 tonight, and was overwhelmed with the need – the NEED – to dye my hair. Not tomorrow, not next week – right this very second. I dye my hair from a box, which inevitably leads to deflating moments at the salon. I am due for a haircut, and mark my words, my stylist will pick at my hair, comment on how dry it is (yeah right, lady), and say, “So do you, like, dye it yourself?”
Yes, cupcake, I sure do, because in order to afford your foiling services, I would have to do this.
So I ran across the street to Walgreens, picked out a box, and came home. This is the part where a roommate or a sister or a mom would be helpful – because I have a major head of hair. I can’t see the back. I can’t keep the dye from running in black ribbons down my face. I can’t tell if every strand of hair has been fully saturated with dye. These obstacles did not stop me, though – ooooh no.
Before I knew it, I had dye everywhere. E-VERY-WHERE. The bathroom looked like a crime scene. Black blood-like pigment all over the bathroom floor, my shower curtain, in my eyes, my face, ears, collarbone, shoulders, legs, back… and what didn’t rot my flesh away with its savage chemicals simply left my body looking as if I had been bludgeoned with a Sally rod.
As I combed the color through my hair, I removed what only can be described as a large hamster of a hairball from my scalp. Not my plain brown hair, but Medium Amber Copper Brown hair. This brings me to a few tangents.
Medium Amber Copper Brown is an incredibly overt, obvious name for hair dye. It reminds me of one of my biggest pet peeves: Menu-Dishes-that-List-Every-Ingredient-in-their-Title. Escargot-under-puff-pastry-with-whole-roasted-garlic-and-lemon-butter. Mango-salad-with-pomengranate-glaze-and-chive-oil. You know what I’m saying? Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to know what’s in it – but that still doesn’t convince me that it’s worth $16. Menus should come up with snappy, merrymaking names, as should hair dye companies. Instead of Medium Amber Copper Brown, how about Papaya of the Sea? Or Tahitian Dawn? Which brings me to…
When I was in 4th grade, I believed “Dawn” to be the most beautiful name of all time, largely due to Ann M. Martin. But what could a 10-year old name “Dawn” that wouldn’t be altogether ridiculous?
I submit to you: a hermit crab.
When I was in 4th grade, I was given the honor of naming our class pet, an ugly little hermit crab. I named her Dawn. She lived for 4 days before she died. Not dyed.
AND THAT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS HOW YOU BRING THE TANGENTS FULL CIRCLE.
I am now out of the shower, having scrubbed the top 2 layers of skin off with a loofah, in order to remove the bruise-like stains. The bathroom floor and counter have been scrubbed, and I’ve disposed of the chemicals in a way that I can only hope does not lead to spontaneous combustion. My hair is now dyed Tahitian Dawn, which is code for “basically the exact same color it was before.”